A Midnight Snack
by nondescriptf
Summary: Holiday Fluff.  Chuck and Blair.  Oneshot.


A/N: Happy Holidays! This takes place roughly six weeks after "A Bass in a Bow Tie", and is also in the same C/B world as "Practice Makes Perfect".

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Blair sighed as she stood in the elevator next to a brooding Chuck. His attitude was enough to put a damper on the buzz she had managed to give herself by sipping on a particularly large glass of scotch during their limo ride home. Like a petulant child, he had refused to make eye contact and even had the audacity to pull out his Blackberry to tap away at work emails—as if she were unaware of the fact that it was well past one a.m. on a Saturday night, and whatever he was pretending to focus on couldn't wait. He was so engrossed in acting busy, that he hadn't noticed she'd been drinking. But even amidst his sulking, he had instinctively held out a hand to help her out of the limo, and his arm had snaked around her waist to guide her through the lobby doors.

Once they entered the steel box, however, his arm slid away and he stared straight ahead. She reached over to lace her fingers with his, but when the back of her hand brushed against his, he childishly crossed his arms, and the expression on his face grew even icier. Truthfully, she was more than a little amused by all of this. It had been quite some time since he had overreacted like he was now, and she had every intention of telling him so. But as he stood there in stony silence, she suspected it would take more than a slight effort on her part if the evening was to end on a pleasant note.

When the elevator doors slid opened, he motioned for her to exit first, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited. She bit back a smile, even when he was cranky he could still be a little sweet. The small gesture was enough to bring back her playful mood from earlier. In a light voice, she asked, "Chuck, don't you think you're overreacting?"

"Overreacting?" He snapped as he followed her out of the foyer and into their large entry room. Their shoes clicked on the cool, white marble tile floors, echoing through the halls of their otherwise silent penthouse. While he took off his coat, he started to rant. "Yes, I so enjoy being at an event where my wife is constantly being pawed at by other men, while I'm forced to stand by and watch."

Blair shrugged out of her bolero, reminding him just how low the cut of her burgundy backless dress was. She watched in the mirror as Chuck's eyes narrowed and he drank in her porcelain skin. She turned her face so he wouldn't catch her amusement, and laid both her jacket and purse on the table next to her.

"Cat got your tongue?" He sneered as he stepped closer to her. "You have nothing to say?"

She turned around quickly and caught him off guard. Her fingers danced playfully up his chest. With a seductive wink, she let out a little giggle.

"I do love it when you get jealous." Her right hand reached out and cupped his face. "Do you know there are different levels of your jealousy? Sometimes it's sexy, but tonight it's absolutely adorable."

"I'm _not_ jealous," he hissed and jerked his head out of her reach. "And it most certainly is _not_ 'adorable'. I just don't appreciate other men putting their hands on what belongs to me."

"Oh, so I belong to you?" Blair laughed. She closed the distance he had created between them and threw her arms around him. "And for the record, you are _so_ jealous!"

His brows furrowed as he stared at her closely. A moment later he scowled at her. "I don't believe this, Blair Waldorf is drunk."

"Take that back!" She pouted, the burst of irritation flared quickly.

"Were you drunk at the party?" He asked incredulously. "God, Blair are you trying to piss me off tonight?"

"I was not drunk at the party. I may have gotten tipsy on your scotch on the ride home," she informed him coolly. She wrinkled her nose and haughtily informed him, "And my name is Blair Bass, as it has been for over a decade now."

"Has it?" Chuck asked mockingly, as he looked down at her.

"Why are you being so stuffy, _Charles_? You know very well I did nothing to encourage any of the men who I danced with tonight." She rolled her eyes before stabbing him hard in the chest with her finger. "What did you want me to do—cause a scene? Decline their request by saying, '_I'm sorry, my Bassanderthal husband, who is incidentally your boss, would prefer I not dance with you because he gets irrationally jealous_'? It was the company Christmas Party, for Christ's sake."

"I'm sure you love that you can use that as a reason. Did you notice how I refrained from dancing with anyone other than my wife this evening? Just admit it, you enjoyed it—the attention, the dancing, all of it."

"When have I ever been adverse to attention, Chuck?"

He glared at her and started to pull away, again, but she reached out and grabbed a hold of his snowflake print, burgundy bow tie, that matched her dress.

"I would have preferred to spend the evening dancing with my husband. But since we were the hosts, it would be counterproductive to ignore our employees, seeing as this is the one yearly event in which the sole purpose is to interact with them," she said sternly, as though she were speaking to one of their children.

"All very convenient excuses."

"Excuses?"

"You heard me."

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Madeline had been lying in bed for the past fifteen minutes, woken up from a dream about the cookies. Those delectable and perfect shortbread cookie sandwiches filled with jam and dipped in dark chocolate that Grandpa Waldorf and Grandpa Roman had sent from France. She smacked her lips in anticipation, she could practically taste them. She wanted another one so badly, she was considering the wrath of her parents if she were to get caught sneaking out of bed and going downstairs to have one...or maybe three. But the idea of either one of her parents finding her, especially her Daddy, was enough for her to command herself to go back to sleep.

Suddenly her eyes flew open—tonight was the Bass Industries Christmas party! If she remembered correctly, her mother had told Dorota that they would be home late. She squinted at the clock on her nightstand—1:26 a.m. Surely, they were home by now, and tucked into their own bed. She tossed and turned, but finally the overwhelming need to have another cookie propelled her into action. She threw back her covers and scrambled out of bed, slipping on her fluffy lavender slippers and clutching her beloved polar bear, Mr. Fishy, in her arms. Madeline had received Mr. Fishy as a birthday present from Grandpa Cyrus when she turned had four, two years ago, and she had slept with him every single night since. Eventually she had to bribe Dorota into sewing on a bow tie around Mr. Fishy's neck, after his favorite accessory kept slipping off.

Even though no one could see her, she tiptoed across her room—holding Mr. Fishy's hand, of course—and opened her door carefully. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found the hallway was dark and slowly made her way to the stairs.

"Mr. Fishy," Madeline said in a loud whisper, "you have to be very, very, very quiet, otherwise Daddy will find us, and then we'll be in trouble."

When Mr. Fishy nodded in agreement, she placed her free hand on the banister, which was festively decorated with garland and lights and velvet ribbons, and just as she was about to take her first step down the staircase, she heard her Daddy's voice. With a gasp, she jumped back and hugged the door of the hallway. Her ear strained to listen to the muffled conversation.

"Charles Bartholomew Bass," her mother hissed.

Madeline's eyes grew as wide as saucers as she crept back out onto the landing to see what was going on. Her Daddy was about to get into _big_ trouble, Mommy only ever called someone by their full name when she was being serious, Madeline thought with a tinge of glee. Maybe if Mommy was mad at Daddy, she could cheer him up by bringing him cookies.

"Blair," Chuck said hesitantly. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Is that so? Then how did you mean it?" Blair asked in a deceptively quiet tone.

He sighed. "You know what I meant."

"No, actually, I don't. But what I do know, is that you can spend the rest of the evening in the comforts of the guest room figuring out exactly what you meant and how you meant it. Perhaps, a good night's sleep will snap you out of this ridiculous mood you're in," Blair huffed. "And if you know what's best for you, you'll stay out of my bedroom."

Her mother dramatically turned on her heel and headed towards the staircase.

Again, Madeline jumped and scampered towards the safety of the darkened hallway. She should run straight to her room and go to bed. But curiosity was getting the best of her, and she couldn't resist knowing what was going to happen next. Her Daddy wasn't just in _big_ trouble, he was in _very, very, very big_ trouble. She could only remember one time when Mommy had made him sleep in the guest room. That night, Daddy had snuck into her room and slept there instead. Madeline had been surprised that Mommy hadn't been angry when she'd found them the next morning, she had smiled instead.

Dropping onto the floor and hugging Mr. Fishy to her chest, she crawled across the hardwood floor and inched her way back to the railing to get a closer look.

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Chuck reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, and spun her back to face him. Blair's hand landed on his chest and she glared up at him. His left arm wrapped around her waist, while the fingers of his right hand splayed out on the small of her back.

In a low husky voice, he murmured, "But I don't like the guest room, it's not nearly close enough to you."

"Well you should have thought about that before you opened your mouth and made thoughtless accusations," she said icily.

He caressed her skin with feather light touches, as he pressed his body as close to hers as possible. Blair tried to repress the flicker of desire she felt, but she couldn't stop herself from shivering at the contact.

"Let me make it up to you," he whispered as he nibbled on her ear.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" She challenged him. She was not going to forgive him so easily, he had been Bassinine, and he was going to have to work for it.

"By doing what I should have done earlier tonight," he answered. He continued stroking the skin of her back, while he clasped her hand in his other. He started moving his feet while he hummed a melody in her ear.

She moved her feet with his, as he danced her across the room. She couldn't suppress a smile, as he twirled her expertly, and then dropped her into a theatrical dip.

"Chuck!" She squealed.

He drew her back up into his arms and asked with a boyish grin, "Is it working?"

"Maybe," she said reluctantly, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from turning upwards.

"I hate it when you dance with other men, Blair," Chuck admitted unhappily as he buried his head into her neck, and held her close.

"It's not like I want to dance with them," she mumbled softly.

"It's not _you_—there is no one I trust more in the world. It's just I hate watching, knowing what lecherous thoughts they're thinking. Their hands always travel far too low, and they practically salivate at having you so close," he continued, as the anger started to simmer again.

"I know it's awful, but I love that even after all these years, you still get jealous," Blair admitted as her fingers kneaded the back of his neck. "Besides, you know they're all just wondering what it is about me that has managed to keep the infamous Chuck Bass so devoted and faithful."

"That's not funny, Blair," he said tightly. He continued to dance with her, as he moved her slowly across their makeshift dance floor.

She purred in contentment as his body shifted sinuously against hers, a tingle of anticipation running up her spine.

"Where's your sense of humor? Don't you find it the teeniest, tiniest bit funny?" She asked in a huskier voice than intended. "Admit it. Who would have thought you would be jealous because you couldn't dance with your own wife?"

"Me," he answered in a clipped voice.

But he surprised her by starting to hum in her ear again, instead of launching into another tirade. She joined in and hummed right along to their wedding song. As his hand slipped lower down her back, she rested her head on his chest and smiled dreamily.

"They have it all wrong, you know," he said a few minutes later, as they continued to dance, long after their humming had faded.

"Have what wrong?"

Chuck stopped moving and cradled her face in his hands. He leaned over and dropped a light kiss on her lips before he said, "Every morning I wake up next to you, I wonder what _I_ did right that allowed me to end up with you."

Her eyes twinkled. "Charmer."

He pulled her against him and she rested her head back on his chest. His right hand found its way to her left hand again and with their fingers intertwined and resting above his heart, he started to hum another favorite tune of hers. She smiled as their bodies began to sway.

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Madeline was positioned on her tummy, so she could look down on her parents from between the staircase posts. She switched Mr. Fishy from her right side to her left when she realized the large velvet ribbon hanging from the garland was obstructing his view. She watched as her parents danced slowly, she couldn't make out the song that her Daddy was humming, but her Mommy was smiling. With only the dim lights from their Christmas Tree in the entryway lit, from up above, her Mommy looked like a princess dancing with Prince Charming. Even though she knew her Mommy was the Queen, because Madeline herself was the princess, it sounded better that way. Putting her arm around Mr. Fishy, she whispered into his ear, "It's like a fairy tale, Mr. Fishy, and they will live happily ever after...The End."

She turned to see Mr. Fishy nodding his head in agreement. Her eyes found their way back to her parents, only to find them now staring at each other, barely moving. With a loud yawn, she snuggled Mr. Fishy closer, she wanted to keep watching her parents dance—it was like watching a movie—but her eyes slowly started to droop.

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Blair had no idea how long they had been dancing for, but she felt as though she could keep on dancing with him all night. She treasured how they still managed to savor the small intimacies—how just the stroke of his hand on her back could still excite her or how the way his teeth grazed her ear could still make her moan. But most especially, she loved that she never tired of holding his hand and how that simple gesture still gave her butterflies.

"I think it's time we continued this upstairs," he murmured into her ear. "There's a bed with our name on it, just begging for this dance to be continued in a horizontal position."

Blair pulled away and gave him a severe look. "I hope you haven't assumed that just because I've been dancing with you, I'm going to let you sleep in _my_ bedroom. That's a bit presumptuous, wouldn't you say?"

"Who said anything about sleep?" He leered at her.

"Is that the best you have to offer?" She pondered aloud.

"I could give you a massage? Hours of pleasure? Countless orgasms?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

"That's it?" She asked as she cocked her head to the side and looked at him expectantly.

He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles and offered, "I will love you for the rest of my life."

Blair tilted her head and stared at him, pretending to deliberate before answering. "Well, I suppose I could settle for that."

He growled at her playfully and swept her into his arms. As they ascended up the staircase, she attempted to distract him by untying his bow tie and nuzzling his neck.

"Blair, if I drop you, it will be your fault," he said with a strained voice.

"If you drop me," she said before pausing to bite him on his neck. "You will be seeking the comforts of the guest room, instead of spending all night and morning in our bed, naked with me."

"Then I guess, I shouldn't drop you," he concluded.

She didn't expect it when he stopped halfway up the staircase and pinned her against the wall. He shifted so that her legs moved to wrap around his waist, and he inched towards her lips with painstaking slowness. Her hands, which had initially gripped his shoulders, were soon speared in his hair as she tried to force his mouth closer to hers. Just when she was about to yank his hair in frustration, his lips finally brushed hers and his tongue slipped into her mouth, as he ravished her with kisses. Desperate to feel his skin against hers, she tugged his shirt out from his pants, and ran her hands up his back. Her fingers dug into his skin as he kissed her even harder, thrusting his pelvis against hers. He pressed into her again slowly, causing her to moan loudly while he chuckled in satisfaction.

"Now, now, Blair, you have to keep quiet, what if you wake up the children?" Chuck taunted her before he trailed kisses against her neck.

"Then it would behoove you to get us to our bedroom, otherwise you'll be the one explaining to the children what exactly you were doing to me," she taunted back.

"God, I love you," he said with a smile.

"I love you, too," she agreed. "Now what was that about our bed?"

He pulled her against him, her legs still wrapped around his waist as they climbed up the staircase. When they were a step away from the top, Chuck stopped and groaned, "I don't believe this."

"What?" Blair asked in confusion.

With a sigh, he turned around so she could face forward. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. Just as she was about to ask Chuck what was wrong, her eyes glanced downwards. She let out a sigh that mirrored her husband's reaction just a moment ago. With his help, she slowly slid down into a standing position.

"What is _your_ daughter doing out here?" Chuck asked.

"_Your_ little terror is sleeping, apparently," Blair answered wryly.

There Madeline was, sprawled out on the floor, fast asleep, and using Mr. Fishy as a pillow.

"How long do you think she's been here?" He whispered.

"Who knows?"

"You don't think she was trying to sneak downstairs and have more cookies, do you?" Chuck stated, more than asked. His tone implied there could be no other possible answer.

Blair hesitated, with Madeline, one could never tell. Finally, she shrugged. "Probably? I knew I should have hidden them until next week. She's such a Bass, once she sets her mind on something, she just _has_ to have it."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Chuck pointed out. "That's how I won you, isn't it?"

"Well, if you still want me, I'm going to ask you put our little princess back into bed," Blair said. She leaned over and gave him a lingering kiss on the mouth. "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Don't keep me waiting…"

She slinked down the darkened hallway to into their bedroom at the end of the hall. When she turned back to shut the door, she caught a glimpse of her husband gently lifting their daughter and Mr. Fishy off the floor. She smiled as she kicked off her shoes and slipped out of her dress.

A minute later, their bedroom door opened and closed, followed by the sound of the lock firmly clicking into place. Chuck's arms wrapped around Blair from behind, the familiar feel of his lips brushed her shoulder—he never could manage to keep her waiting long.

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_**fin.**_

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><p>AN: Just some holiday cheer that was written a little while back during my bout of fluffsplosion. I hope you enjoyed it.

Thank you to uncorazonquebrado for your ridiculously fantastic beta skills, you are _almost_ as good of a beta as you are a writer (cough, cough, hint, hint…please write more).


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